FIC: The Kids Weren't Alright (2/4)

[lettered]

Title: The Kids Weren’t Alright
Rating: PG
Length: this chapter: 13,500; total: 53,000
Characters: Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Jane Foster. This is gen, but focuses on the relationships between Bruce/Tony, Bruce/Steve, Bruce/Natasha, with some Tony/Pepper, Tony/Steve, Natasha/Clint
Warning: deals with past child abuse (parts 2-4); offensive (including homophobic) language; really nonsensical use of science concepts, equipment, and terminology
Summary: Tony accidentally turns himself into a twelve-year-old using alien tech. Steve is stuck as bodyguard, Bruce is stuck trying to fix him, and Pepper is stuck trying to ward off a twelve-year old’s attempts at flirtation. And then things go from bad to worse.
A/N: Thanks as always to my_daroga, for listening.

This is the fourth story of the series Responsible Science. You don’t have to have read any of the previous stories to get this one.

This story is 4 parts long. It’s finished; I’m just editing. All should be posted within a week.

Go to: part 1


Part 2

When Bruce woke up, the last thing that he remembered was Mom saying he’d better get his books off of the kitchen table, but that was yesterday—or the day before . . . no, it was an argument with his chemistry teacher about Bohr’s atom, but what did that guy know; he was the football coach . . . no, it was Dad, in one of his better moods, and he’d had his arm around Bruce and Bruce had gotten to sit really close and he’d been explaining why Bruce’s diagrams for the air conditioner were wrong, all wrong, didn’t he know anything, but that was alright because Dad knew everything . . . right?

Bruce looked around. His head hurt and these clothes weren’t right; he didn’t know how he got here and he didn’t know where here was. There were some other kids, a blonde girl, all around twelve or so, the same age as him. Their clothes were too big too. Bruce started thinking maybe he’d gotten into trouble again—maybe with these kids, or maybe these were some other kids who . . . and this could be a chemistry laboratory, except it wasn’t.

There were a lot of electronics and computers in here, not at all like school. There were computers where Dad worked—big ones, with lots of buttons. Bruce had learned never to touch those, but he never went to Dad’s work anymore. Not for a long time.

“Well, this is FUBARed,” said one of the kids. Actually, his clothes fit.

“Where are we?” said another kid. He was small, skinny and blond.

“What’s going on here?” said the blonde girl.

So, no help from any of them, then.

“Hulk?” said the first kid.

Bruce was tempted to try one of the computers, but Dad would probably kill him for touching anything—even if this wasn’t his lab. In fact, Dad would probably kill him for even being here.

“Bruce.”

Eyes narrowing, Bruce looked at the first kid again. His clothes were a little strange, but obviously not cheap. He had glossy hair and one of those know-it-all kinds of faces. Bruce was sure he didn’t know him. “Who are you?”

“Tony Stark,” said the kid.

Stark rang instant bells; of course, plenty of people could have that name, but it would explain all of the expensive, high tech looking equipment.

“You’re Howard Stark’s son,” said the blonde girl.

Smirking, Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re Pepper Potts.”

“Who’s Howard Stark?” asked the blond boy.

Smart, smart-and-an-asshole, stupid, thought Bruce in regards to each of the respectively. He looked around again. The only reason he could think of for being brought here was something to do with Dad’s research, but that didn’t explain why he was here, unless you believed in conspiracy theories, which generally Bruce didn’t.

“You’re Steve Rogers,” Tony said, turning on the blond boy. “And wow, you’re really small.”

“Thanks,” said the blond boy, clutching his pants. “Going to tell us why we’re here?”

“There was a little accident,” Tony said, and smiled.

Great, he was going to draw it out.

Bruce wondered if maybe he’d had a black-out. He’d never had a black-out before, but he’d heard they happened to people. He wouldn’t know why he’d have a black-out, but sometimes he got so angry he couldn’t even control what he was saying or doing. He supposed clinically it was possible that the adrenalin could momentarily short circuit important neural connections in the frontal lobe.

He wondered whether that was what happened with Dad.

“We were trying to turn an apple into a seed,” said Tony.

“Why don’t you try coring it?” asked Pepper, obviously irritated.

“You will not believe how many fertilization jokes I’m skipping right here,” said Tony. “Anyway, so the year is 2013; I got turned into a kid using alien technology; you guys are a bunch of old farts who were trying to fix me, and then you got zapped, too. Any questions?”

“What are you smoking?” asked Pepper.

“Where are we?” Steve asked.

“Stark Tower,” said Tony. “I kind of own it. Howard Stark was my dad, but he’s dead now, which is sad, but you know, I’m a grown man, I’ll get over it, also I saved the world so Steve—God, I’ve always wanted to say this to you—you can suck it.”

“Suck what?” said Steve.

“His dick,” said Pepper.

At around that point, Bruce adjusted his assessment of each of them: stupid, stupid, and stupid.

There were two exits in this lab; to the left, there were clear doors, behind which was a visible elevator. On the other side was another set of clear doors, beyond which there appeared to be a hallway. No one else seemed to be around, which—if you did believe in conspiracy theories—didn’t make a lot of sense.

They were talking about Tony’s dick or something, so Bruce walked over to one of the screens with a keyboard in front—or he tried. His shoes were too big, so he toed them off, then walked over, holding his pants up as he went. He found glasses in his shirt pocket and put them on. Those were too big too, but it couldn’t be helped.

The screen was definitely a computer monitor, but it was almost completely flat, with an image quality he had never seen; it was like a TV. Better than a TV—better than Star Trek. There were a bunch of diagrams on it, covered in equations.

Bruce tried to push up his sleeves while holding his pants, which proved difficult. He looked around, finding a stool, and dragged it over to the bench. The stool freed his hands from holding his pants up. Bruce rolled up his sleeves and pressed Escape. Nothing happened. He put his fingers on home row, and typed in every key command he knew. Still nothing happened, which meant—Bruce checked the cord, and found the mouse.

“You have to use the mouse,” Tony said, and Bruce put his hand on it and clicked.

There wasn’t a mouse on any of Dad’s computers at work, but Bruce had read about them. It irritated him that Tony knew how to use it, but Bruce supposed that could be helpful, so he didn’t say anything, and went about figuring out how to use it himself.

“Enough with the funny business,” Pepper was saying. “What the hell is going on?”

“What is he doing?” Steve asked.

“It’s a computer,” said Pepper.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Tony. “I’m actually going to have to prove it to you. Hulk? Fire up the internet; here we come. It’s okay, Steve. It won’t bite.”

Bruce scrolled through the diagrams on the screen. He recognized the parts for the device, but not the purpose, and some of the equations he didn’t understand. Some of the hand-written parts felt half-familiar, and yet he couldn’t figure them out, and it wasn’t giving him any clue as to why he was here.

Tony, however, was unalarmed, and seemed to think the whole thing was a big joke, which meant maybe he was in on it. It could be some kind of weird experiment—and that was getting into conspiracy theory territory, although when Bruce looked at the schematics for this device, he already felt like he was in some kind of stagey sci-fi play. And then there were these scribbles about the twin paradox, which were—actually, they were very—

“Hulkmeister,” said Tony, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I said fire up the—”

Bruce grabbed his wrist and twisted it.

“The fuck,” said Tony, yanking his arm away.

“Don’t touch me,” Bruce said, turning back to the computer.

“Hey,” said Steve, walking over to them, almost tripping on all of his giant clothes. “We don’t need any fighting here. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. I think we’re all disoriented, and—”

“Oh my God, shut up Steve,” said Tony. “He didn’t hurt me. Hey Hulk—Bruce—”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Pepper was there now too, holding up the waist of her skirt with one hand. She’d taken off her shoes as well.

Bruce knew that other people usually had a difficult time concentrating with people around them yelling, but he’d mostly learned that from hearsay. From personal experience, he didn’t find it difficult at all to concentrate when people were yelling. Life skill.

As they went on arguing, Bruce figured out the basics of the mouse and the operating system, and in the start menu he found a search. In it he typed, Tony Stark, which came up with thousands of results. Bruce opened the first one, which appeared to be schematics for some kind of car. The next file was a diagram for a reactor, and the next—

“Jarvis,” Tony said, loudly enough that Bruce was momentarily thrown. “I know Pepper turned you off, but we could really use your help right now.”

“It’s okay, Pepper,” Steve was saying in a soothing way. “I don’t think he means to be such a . . . twit.”

“What’s he trying to be then?”

“I think he . . .” There was a pause. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think he really might believe what he’s saying.”

“I do believe what I’m saying, because it’s fucking true. Jesus Christ, you all are such children! Look around you.”

“I’m looking,” said Pepper’s testy voice.

“Jarvis,” Tony whined.

“Who’s Jarvis?” Steve asked gently, “maybe I can help you find him.”

As they went on babbling, Bruce scrolled through the results some more, realizing that he wasn’t getting to anything important partly because there was a whole folder called “Tony”. In fact, there were several, and all the files inside of them were interesting, but they didn’t explain anything. Tony apparently had free run of this computer, which meant searching for him was—

“I said search the internet, Bruce,” said Tony, so Bruce typed “internet” into the start menu search field. “I said search the internet, not search for the internet; fuck me with a—there you go.”

The search had come up with “Internet Explorer,” so Bruce clicked on that. It opened a new window with a new search field, so Bruce typed in Tony Stark.

“Click on ‘Tony Stark: World’s Sexiest Icon’,” Tony said, so Bruce clicked on Images for tony stark.

“What is that thing?” said Steve.

“I dunno,” said Pepper. “I mean, it’s a computer, but—but like, gnarly.”

“I don’t think it’s gross at all,” said Steve. “I think it’s rather pretty, in fact. Who are those pictures of?”

“Stop sucking up to my girlfriend, Steve,” said Tony.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” said Pepper. “Ew. Ew. I am not his girlfriend.”

“Um,” said Steve. “I didn’t think you were.”

Bruce was still trying to figure out what the results meant. He clicked back from the images, because the guy looked a little like Howard Stark from the news—and a little like Tony—but it wasn’t Howard and it definitely wasn’t Tony, and all of this information here—it was like . . . some sort of fantasy future that some dickwad rich kid with too much time on his hands and apparently too much access to technology would create, Bruce supposed. When Bruce thought about what he would have done with a machine like this—what a fucking waste.

“Pepper,” Tony was saying, “pleeease can you just tell Jarvis he can talk to me? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Not until you tell me who Jarvis is,” said Pepper.

“I believe he said it was his robot butler,” Steve pointed out.

“Yes, thank you Steve. See,” said Tony, “Steve listens to me.”

“Um,” said Steve, “only because you appear to be the only person with any idea of what is happening, not because I necessarily believe in robot butlers.”

“Yes,” said Tony. “Thank you. I know what is happening; Jarvis knows what is happening; Pepper, will you please—”

Pepper huffed. “Okay, fine. Jarvis, you can talk, whatever that means.”

“Hello, Tony,” said a calm British voice.

Startled, Bruce looked around over the tops of his glasses. The voice was obviously issuing from some kind of speaker, but at the moment he couldn’t find it. The others were looking around as well.

“Oh my God, never do that to me again, Jarvis,” said Tony.

“While I can override certain commands as necessity dictates, I have found that where Miss Potts is concerned, it is always best to do as instructed,” the voice said.

“Um.” Still looking around, Pepper twisted a piece of hair around her finger. “Miss Potts?”

Unable to find the speaker, Bruce pushed up his glasses, then typed “Jarvis” into the search field. When the results appeared to be non-specific, he typed in “Jarvis robot butler.” This time there were fewer results, but still a good number, and all of them were about Tony. Bruce clicked on the one that said, Stark’s AI Home of the Future.

“Where is he?” Steve said.

“He’s all around you,” said Tony. “You’re like, totally inside of Jarvis.”

“Oh my God,” said Pepper. “Big Brother.”

“Like that,” said Tony, “only cooler.”

“There is nothing about Big Brother that is cool,” said Pepper.

“Well, no,” said Tony, a little chagrined.

“I think I need to sit down,” said Steve.

“Holy shit, Steve,” said Tony, and he sounded surprised and concerned enough that Bruce glanced around.

The kid was looking a little pale, swaying slightly. Going to faint—from all the excitement, probably—what a big wuss. Tony had been right; the kid was puny. Bruce turned back to the computer, because it was far more interesting.

“Are you okay?” Pepper was asking.

“Let me get you a chair,” said Tony. “And a drink of water. Get him a drink of water, Pepper.”

“You get him a drink of water,” said Pepper.

“It’s okay,” said Steve. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” said Tony. “You’re pre-serum; I’ll go get you a glass of water; watch over him, okay, Pep? He’s delicate.”

“I’m not delicate.”

“Be right back,” said Tony. “Jarvis, can you do something like—”

“Monitor his vitals?” Jarvis asked. “Young Mister Rogers does not appear to be in any danger.”

“See?” said Steve.

“Young Mister Rogers,” Tony gloated. “Okay, Steve? I’m sorry I was such a fucking asshole, but that is never going to not be funny,” he said, and left the lab.

Bruce’s hand hovered over the keyboard. Finally, he typed “current news” into the search field.

“Well,” said Steve. “He’s bracing.”

“What’s wrong?” said Pepper. “Can I do anything?”

“I’m alright. It’s only—you two . . . appear to . . . I’m sorry, Pepper; you’re going to think this is ridiculous, but—what year is it?”

“Oh, I get it,” said Pepper. “You’ve never read 1984.”

“No,” said Steve. “I can’t say that I have. When was it written?”

“I dunno, a long time ago, like in the forties. Haven’t you heard of George Orwell?”

“No,” Steve said again. “For me, it’s 1929. Or at least, it was.”

“You don’t mean you believe that hoser?”

“Your name was Bruce, right?”

Steve had stood up and moved closer. Bruce didn’t really want to be a part of their little club or whatever, but obviously there was information to be gained from at least a modicum of interaction. He glanced at Steve, then back at the computer. “1929, you said?”

“Yes,” said Steve. “What year is it for you?”

“’79,” said Bruce. “On here it says 2013.”

“You guys are totally smoking something,” said Pepper.

“I’m not saying we time traveled.” Bruce turned away from the computer, irritated.

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. Her hair was really long and her face was really freckled. She had large, heavy-lidded eyes. “Then what are you saying?”

“He’s saying that if we work together, we can figure this out.”

Steve was obviously a people-pleaser, one of those sorts who just wanted everyone to get along. Bruce had encountered those types before. They were generally stupid. Turning back to the computer, he typed “time travel” into the search field.

“Okay, you’re right,” Pepper said. “I just think that Tony—”

“—is totally radical and far out and the epitome of cool?” asked Tony. He must have come back in with a glass of water, because he went on, “Here, Steve. I brought you some crackers. And some figs. You like figs, right? You should eat. You’ll feel better if you eat.”

“Thanks,” said Steve. “I think I like figs, but I’m not sure. And I feel fine.”

“What year do you think it is?” said Pepper.

“2013,” said Tony.

“But if you’re Howard Stark’s son,” she began.

“I know,” said Tony. “It should be 1977, but it isn’t; it’s 2013. Can we move past the incredulity portion of our program, and onto the portion where we outsmart the adults, get chased by criminals, find hidden treasure, and you fall desperately in love with me? It could be a show, like Scooby-Doo with more me. We could call it Tony and Friends. Hey—where are you going?”

This last was directed at Bruce, who had put away his glasses and was headed toward the door. So far, the computer seemed to collaborate Tony’s story, but didn’t supply any feasible means of time travel or age reduction. Being cooped up in here wasn’t going to solve anything, and these stupid kids obviously didn’t know anything, so if Bruce was going to figure any of this out, it was going to be on his own.

Tony, however, was standing in front of the doors.

“Move it,” said Bruce, and pushed him.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were a jerk,” said Tony, and pushed him back.

“Hey!” called Steve.

As he came running up, tripping over his enormous pants, Bruce grabbed Tony’s arm and twisted, but Tony brought his knee up toward Bruce’s crotch, and Bruce wanted to break his arm. Fucking little shit, thinking he knew everything, and Bruce had known from the moment he saw him he was one of those spoiled rich kids who thought they were going to always get their way, and it wasn’t fair when he knew what was going on and the rest of them didn’t; he hated dickwads like that who took advantage of the situation, and tried to lord whatever superior position they had over—

“Quit it,” said Steve, “right now—” He jerked Bruce’s arm, and Bruce shook him off, hard, and Steve fell down in a massive puddle of clothes.

Bruce looked down at him in surprise.

Then Pepper punched him in the eye.

“Fuck,” said Bruce, covering his eye. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Steve,” Pepper said, and knelt to try to help Steve stand.

Steve was getting up, struggling amidst excess fabric. Finally he stood, closing in beside Tony, Pepper closing in beside Steve. Three against one was never good odds. Bruce knew that from experience, and his eye fucking hurt. Christ, what a goddamn mess, and if Dad found out he’d got in another fight, he was going to—

“What the fuck is your problem?” said Tony. “Is this seriously what you were like as a kid? Seriously? You could have broken my fucking arm; what the fuck were you—”

“Take a deep breath,” said Steve, “and calm down.”

Tony didn’t take a deep breath, and didn’t calm down. “He fucking hit you, Steve!”

Bruce’s voice was low. “Get out of my way.”

“No wonder you were so fucking sad as a grown-up,” said Tony. “No one fucking liked you.”

“He really knows how to defuse a situation,” Pepper said to Steve.

“Really.” Steve stepped between Tony and Bruce—actually stepped between them, like Steve could stop him, this skimpy little weed of a thing, and said, “Okay, listen up. Bruce, you want to go outside. Doesn’t look like you’re going to back down, so Tony—”

“He can’t go outside,” said Tony.

“What is it,” said Bruce, “some kind of fucking space ship?”

“Supposedly, it’s the future.” Pepper frowned down at Tony—she was taller than all of them. “Is Big Brother watching?”

“No,” said Tony, “but we—we’re pretty important people, and there could be—”

“Wow, really?” said Bruce. “You’re important? Because Daddy is famous and wealthy? My Dad is—”

“Are we going to have a Dad off?” said Pepper. “Really?”

“My Dad is dead,” said Tony, “because this is the future, and I’m a superhero, and you’re my girlfriend,” he told Pepper, “and didn’t you Google yourself?” he asked Bruce, but didn’t wait for an answer, “and haven’t you guys figured out who he is, yet?”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” said Pepper.

Bruce glanced at Steve, and then—didn’t look away. Because okay, yes: 1929, the way he looked and talked, his clothes, his very weakness, and what Tony had said about serum . . . “Captain America is dead,” said Bruce.

“Captain America?” said Pepper.

“Yes, Captain America,” Tony said.

Frowning, Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. It seemed to be a favorite pose of hers. “Impossible,” she said.

“Um.” Steve raised his hand. “Who is Captain America?”

“You are,” said Tony.

“Really?” Steve looked interested. “Captain? I didn’t think—”

“Yes.” Tony flapped a hand. “You’re a captain in the U.S. army during World War II; they injected you with a super soldier serum; you were very famous, wore a little suit—”

Steve was going pale. “World War II? Who—”

“Germany,” said Tony.

“History lesson later,” said Pepper. “I hate to agree with the juvenile delinquent again, but he’s right. Captain America is dead.”

“Frozen in ice,” said Tony. “Capsicle.” Looking thoughtful, he put his head to one side. “He was right; that doesn’t get old.”

Steve began, “But why would Germany—”

Bruce went for the door again, because everyone was being idiotic, but Tony got in his way. “Can’t let you do that,” he said.

“I’m getting out of here,” said Bruce, “whether you move or I have to make you.”

Tony sneered. “Make me, Hulk.”

“Stop calling me that,” said Bruce, reaching out to push him again.

“Stop right there,” said Steve, and Pepper got in Bruce’s way.

“Do I really have to hit you in your other eye?” she said, “because I’m not a violent person, but so help me God, I will.”

“I’ll go with you,” Steve said to Bruce.

“What?” Tony said.

Steve turned to him. “You said it’s not safe; he’s not going to stay in here, whatever the reason. There’s no point arguing. I’ll go with him, and if we get into trouble—”

“You’ll what?” Tony demanded. “Faint on him?”

Scowling, Steve put his hands on his hips. It was a weirdly aggressive posture for such a girly little shrimp, and even if his size hadn’t mitigated it, the fact that he was holding up his pants would have. He really was positively swimming in them. “I’m not going to faint.”

“Get out of my way,” said Bruce.

“Fine,” said Tony, “I’ll go too.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Great, an idiot parade.”

“Just one thing,” Tony said, not moving an inch. “Give me the phone. It’s in your pocket.”

“Move it,” said Bruce.

“Is that some kind of grody joke?” said Pepper. “Because if so, I don’t want to know.”

“Just reach into your pocket and give it to me,” said Tony. “Not that hard.”

“Okay, compromise,” said Steve. “Bruce, give Tony whatever’s in your pocket; Tony, get out of Bruce’s way.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” said Bruce.

“It’s my phone anyway,” said Tony. “You’re the one who took it.”

Bruce sneered. “I didn’t take anything from you.”

“Three against one,” said Pepper, “and I’m going too.”

Rolling his eyes again, Bruce reached into his pocket, pulling out a plastic case with a smooth black face on one side. Frowning at it, he pressed what seemed to be a button on the front. The black face lit up just like the computer monitor at which Bruce had been looking earlier, filled with a picture of a sleek, stylized car. “Slide to unlock,” it said, so Bruce slid his thumb over it.

“Give it to me,” Tony said. When Bruce didn’t hand it over, he went on, “God, you’re a real fucking—”

“That’s not helping, Tony,” Steve said.

“What is it?” Still holding up her skirt, Pepper moved closer to Bruce.

“It’s a digital interface,” Bruce said, taking out the glasses again. It sort of hurt to put them on his face with his hurt eyes, but whatever. He touched the little icons on the screen, then the button on the bottom to get back to the start screen. “It’s a phone,” he added, when he got to Contacts. “You’re on here.”

“I am?” said Pepper.

Bruce showed her her name. The picture was of an older, blonder woman, with the same great big mouth and heavy-lidded eyes. “That your mom?”

Pepper shook her head. “My mom looks completely different. I don’t know who that would be, except . . .”

“Captain America is in here too,” said Bruce.

“Let me see,” said Steve.

“Hello,” said Tony. “That’s my phone.”

“That isn’t me.” Steve, looking over Bruce’s shoulder from the other side, went a shade paler. “That man is—wow. Wow.”

“I’ll say,” said Pepper. Pulling her eyes off Captain America, she glanced at Bruce. “Are you in it?”

Bruce scrolled through the contacts some more. He wasn’t under Bruce. Scrolling back down, Bruce touched the contact that said Hulk.

“Is it some kind of monster movie?” Pepper said, interested, as she looked down at the big green thing filling the tiny screen.

“That’s Hulk,” said Tony, then turned to Bruce. “Who, by the way, is way cooler than you. Try calling Pepper. Then you’ll see what I mean.”

Bruce pressed the phone number under Pepper’s name. “It says—”

“What’s that?” Pepper asked. Music had started playing on the other side of the room.

“The only boyfriend you love more than me,” said Tony. “Go answer it.”

“It sounds like a radio,” said Steve. “With very . . . interesting music.”

Looking around, Pepper followed the sound. She found another case similar to the one in Bruce’s hand sitting on a lab bench on the other side of the room. First she looked at it, then she touched the screen. “Hello?” she said, once she put it up to her ear.

Bruce put the screen up to his ear, careful to make sure it didn’t touch his cheekbone, which he could tell was already starting to puff up. “Say something,” he said into the phone.

“I can hear you,” Pepper said.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Bruce frowned, then looked the device over. “It’s like a walkie talkie.”

“No,” said Tony. “You could call her from home. Does it say ‘Shield’ in there? Because that’s who we need to call.”

Bruce scrolled through the options. “It doesn’t have Shield. Do you have any more dumb nicknames?”

“How about Rhodey?” Tony said.

“It has that,” said Bruce.

“What’s Shield?” Steve asked.

“Wait a minute.” Tony chewed on his lip a little. “Steve—I mean, Captain Adult—said Rhodey was in the military. I’m not sure we want the military in on this.”

Bruce scoffed. “Got something against the military?”

“I don’t know.” Tony scowled. “Jarvis? A little help.”

“Yes, Mister Stark?” said Jarvis.

“Why would he have something against the military?” asked Steve.

Pepper was still on the other side of the room, looking at the phone. “I have a senator in here. You know, a United States senator. It says so right here.”

“Everybody just shut up for a minute,” Tony said.

“He doesn’t have anything against our glorious and just armed forces,” Bruce told Steve. “Tony’s just a poseur.”

“Jarvis,” said Tony. “Security emergency. We need, you know, body guards and stuff, and we don’t want anyone to know about it, and—oh. We need, you know, scientists. Who do I call?”

“Might I suggest Miss Romanoff,” said Jarvis. “Highly trained in both weaponry and defense, she has acted as both your personal assistant and your bodyguard before. She is also quite capable of keeping a secret, and will be able to put you in touch with any S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist of your choice.”

“Is it talking about . . . a girl?” Steve asked, his brow furrowed.

“Sounds like a babe,” said Tony.

Bruce scrolled through the contacts again. “There isn’t any Romanoff in this phone.”

“Try ‘La Femme’,” Jarvis suggested.

“She’s in here,” said Bruce, “but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Yes, you—”

“Hello?” said Pepper from the other side of the room. “Is this Miss Romanoff?”

Bruce turned to look at her. She was certainly efficient, that one, and Bruce felt absolutely no impulse to change his assessment of her from ‘the smart one.’

“Yes,” Pepper went on. “Pepper Potts. We seem to have found ourselves in a rather inconvenient situation, and Jarvis suggested that we call you.” She listened for a moment, twisting the piece of hair around her finger. “A bit of one, yes. I was wondering if you could come over; I think we need your help . . . . Mm-hm. Well, it’s a bit difficult to explain—”

“Now that is a babe.”

Tony appeared riveted on Pepper. Taking off his glasses, Bruce realized that escape right now would probably be entirely possible. This Romanoff, whoever she was, could just be a part of this whole stupid . . . whatever was going on. Then again, Bruce had slowly been eliminating possible explanations for the situation, and the phone seemed like a tipping point. They just didn’t have this kind of technology yet. No one did, not even Stark Industries; there was no way they could make something this small also this powerful.

There were a few other explanations for everything that had happened so far, but all of them were just as far-fetched as Tony’s. Bruce wavered between sticking it out to find out was going on and getting out of here.

“If you leave, I’m still going with you,” Steve said quietly, which decided it.

Bruce stayed, listening to Pepper’s end of the conversation. She was explaining about how Tony said they had been turned into children.

“Tony, Steve, and Bruce,” Pepper said, in answer to something. “Yes,” she said, after a pause. “Bruce. Yes.” She flicked her gaze over toward them. “Stark Tower?”

“The forty-ninth floor,” Tony called.

“The forty-ninth floor,” said Pepper. “Tony said it—yes. Thank you so much; you’ve been very—” Blinking, she pulled the phone away from her face. Then she shrugged, and pressed the button. “She said she’s coming, and she’s bringing reinforcements.”

Bruce scowled. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not going to get us all killed,” Tony said. He smiled across the room. “Thanks, Pepper. That was really cool, what you did there.”

“Making a phone call?” said Pepper, coming back to join them. “Yeah, that was sooo cool.”

“It was foxy,” said Tony.

Pepper just looked at him. “Wow. You really need to get out more.”

“What,” said Bruce, “we’re just going to sit here until she comes?”

“You’re a fun-sucker,” said Tony. “You suck the fun right out of the room.”

“I’m going to look at the computer Bruce was looking at,” said Pepper. “Steve, you wanna help me out? It looked kind of like a library. Or an encyclopedia. Maybe we can even find something about World War II.”

Raising his brows, Steve turned to Bruce. “What are you doing?”

Bruce wasn’t sure when Steve had assigned himself to be Bruce’s keeper. It wasn’t like it was Steve’s business, but he was standing there with his eyebrows raised, like he could really do something about it if Bruce didn’t want to be a good little boy and go along with their plans, or whatever. The guy acted like he was Captain America, which was laughable, really, when you thought about it. Seriously the guy was so thin and pale that you could probably knock him over if you breathed on him.

Bruce turned his back on him and went over to the other side of the room, where there was what seemed to be another computer, a significant distance from the one he’d been using before. Whatever. The other guys could do whatever they wanted. Bruce had his own things to explore, and when Romanoff or whoever came, he would be ready to figure out just what exactly was going on.

Seeing that Bruce wasn’t leaving, Steve eventually went over to Pepper. Tony went over there too, so Bruce put on his glasses and started poking around at the new computer. After a couple of minutes a light blinked on, startling Bruce enough that he looked around to see if anyone saw. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to . . . but they were talking and laughing and eating figs or whatever. Who the hell ate figs? Who the hell had figs to eat? Who the fuck just had figs lying around, and Bruce didn’t see what was so funny anyway.

Bruce looked back at the light and saw that it was an image. With a little fiddling, it focused, and then Bruce figured out how to turn on other images. Digital projection, without a screen.

Radical.

Glancing across the room, Bruce saw that the other guys hadn’t even noticed that he had fucking Star Wars over here. Of course they were all like best friends now. Obviously, they weren’t including Bruce. Right, obviously they wouldn’t. When he thought about it, he knew he’d been a jerk—a total and complete fucking asshole. He’d hit that guy Steve, and he hadn’t even meant to. Not to mention he was Captain America, apparently. Everyone knew only bad guys hit Captain America.

They were laughing again and looking at Tony, who was waving his arms. Sure, because Tony was good-looking and not an asshole. Or at least not as much of an asshole as him. Bruce didn’t even know why he’d been an asshole. It’d seemed like a really, really good idea at the time and now he could not remember a single reason why he’d been so terrified.

The images were all diagrams of the weird metal apparatus sitting on the other side of the room. There were calculations among the images, too, and now Bruce was starting to realize what was familiar about some of them: he’d written them. This was probably the machine that had reduced their ages—that was, if you wanted to believe that was what had actually happened. Bruce was starting to believe it.

Unable to resist, Bruce called up the internet search thing and typed in his name. He felt weird about doing it, so he opened up the articles and slid them beside the diagrams, so he could switch from looking at the apparatus to . . . reading about himself.

“Whatcha doing?”

Bruce startled guiltily.

“Chill,” said Tony. “I just asked.”

“Don’t sneak up on me,” said Bruce, even though he hadn’t.

Tony looked around at the images. “You’re reading about the Hulk.”

“No I’m not,” Bruce said, dragging the files out of the projection field.

“Yes you are.” Tony came up closer, poking the projection of the images for the metal thing. “Did you know you could do this?” he asked, pulling at the images until it came out of the field, a three dimensional thing.

“Yes,” said Bruce, even though he hadn’t.

“It’s a hologram,” said Tony.

“No, it isn’t.”

Tony scowled. “Yes, it is. This is the holodesk.”

“It’s volumetric. Holograms are flat.”

“Whatever.” Shrugging, Tony dropped the image, which dissolved. “So, did you figure out how the Hulk works?”

Bruce looked over at Pepper and Steve, who were still talking and laughing. Ignoring them, and ignoring Tony, Bruce turned back to the projection field. He tried to pull the image out himself.

“You don’t have to yank it,” said Tony. “Just give it a little tug, like—” He reached out, and Bruce jerked away. “Okay, okay,” Tony said. “Not touching. God, you need to mellow out. Just, you know, give it a little tickle. A little come hither. Pretend like it’s a Chihuaha or a cheerleader or something.”

Bruce tried to tickle the projection. It made him feel like an idiot. That was most likely Tony’s intention. Then the whole thing came out, the whole machine, made of light, hovering there in front of him. It was about five feet tall and three feet in diameter, big and complicated and really interesting.

“There you go. Did you figure out what that is yet?” Tony asked.

“And a bunch of radiation monitors. Some magnets, some kind of vacuum tube and some super-coolant.” And then a million other things that Bruce didn’t recognize, but he didn’t mention those because Tony didn’t have to know.

“It’s a Flux Accelerator.”

“I knew that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

Tony smirked. “So, the Hulk. You think you used sterones, or what?”

“Sterones?”

Smirk growing wider, Tony said, “Sterones. You know, steroid hormones. You can make synthetic—”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce said, “I know what sterones are. What do they have to do with—” he waved his hand the same direction he’d tossed the files about the Hulk—“that?”

“I thought maybe you did it with sterones,” said Tony.

Bruce snorted. “You think some hormones are going to make an invincible giant? And what, throw some kind of tropane alkaloid into a milkshake? That’s stupid. That doesn’t even account for the extra mass.”

Tony just looked at him for a moment, his gaze very still. “Alright,” he said, shrugging. “What about that extra mass?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you think about it?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“You think maybe you get it from the air?”

Bruce shrugged. “I guess.”

“Like photosynthesis?”

Rolling his eyes again, Bruce said, “No. That’s dumb.”

“Why is it dumb?”

“For one thing, it’d have to be a lot faster, and for another, you’d have to be able to do it in the dark, and more importantly, it’s got to be far more complicated. Carbohydrates are weak; you’d need to metabolize something stronger, like—like maybe—”

“Fullerenes.”

“—right, and you can’t just metabolize fullerenes, or if you could, it’d mean you were taking apart some of the atoms in your body to build them—which, by the way, you’d have to do anyway, in order to restructure your mass that way. It’s probably like some kind of condensed gamma bomb that restructures all the PNT bonds so that they’re stronger, with more space between them—like a contained reaction that causes everything to burst apart.”

“Compton scattering,” said Tony.

“Now you got it,” said Bruce, opening the part of the volumetric Flux Accelerator that looked like it was the coolant valve. He was a little surprised Tony was even following along. He knew Howard Stark’s kid was supposed to be a genius or whatever, but usually people didn’t understand what he was saying when he talked like that—except for Dad, but Bruce didn’t talk like that around Dad. Mostly he didn’t say much of anything around Dad.

Tony tilted his head, just looking at him. He didn’t say anything—Bruce had known him maybe half an hour, and he’d never not said anything—but he was just looking, standing very still.

“What?” said Bruce, irritated, after this went on too long.

“I think we got started out on the wrong foot,” Tony said, his tone completely different than the one he had been using before.

Bruce tugged on the image so that he could see farther into the Flux Accelerator, then remembered he had to tickle.

“You were really cool as an old dude,” Tony went on.

“I’m sorry I’m not old,” Bruce said sarcastically.

“You know what I really dug about you?” Tony hopped up on the bench beside the projection field. “You didn’t bullshit. People are always trying to bullshit me. Pepper and Steve—it wasn’t like they lied. They were just really aware I was a kid, and they treated me like one. You didn’t do that. You were . . . you were kind of impossibly awesome, actually.”

Bruce wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, because all he was saying was that he wasn’t impossibly awesome, not right now, and yet somehow Bruce’s tongue felt thick, and he couldn’t say the words.

“Don’t tell anybody this, alright?” said Tony. “And don’t take it the wrong way. I know it sounds weird. But when you were, you know, old, I sort of wished . . . I sort of wished you were my—I wished my dad was more like you. I just wanted you to know.”

Swallowing, Bruce ducked his head into the projected images. Maybe if he pretended it was really interesting, Tony would go away.

Instead, Tony sat there kicking his legs against the bench, and started talking about the Flux Accelerator. Apparently, it was the thing that had turned them all into kids, and it worked by folding matter, or whatever, which affected time.

After a while, Bruce pulled his head out. “How do you know all that?” he asked.

Tony grinned. “You.”

“So,” said Bruce, “um—what does this do?” He pointed to another part he hadn’t been able to figure out.

“Oh, that.” Tony jumped off the bench. “It’s a stabilizer, you dig?” He walked right through the image, and then he was in there with Bruce, enlarging the display a little with his hands. “See how it connects to this cooling valve? Hulk said that in the original—the one with the Cosmic Cube—”

“Cosmic Cube?” said Bruce.

“Yeah.” Tony smirked. “Alien weapons technology. Mondo explosive shit. Opened a portal up in space.”

“Aliens? You mean real aliens?”

“Far out, right? And this bit here is where they put the iridium.” Tony went to tickle another part of the display, his hand brushing Bruce’s as he did so.

Bruce found he didn’t mind that much.

Tony went on explaining, and they took apart the whole virtual machine, and Bruce found that he didn’t mind at all.

“Hey,” another voice said, after a little while.

“Hey,” said Tony, poking his head out of the display. “What’s Pepper doing?”

“Looking up stuff about that senator she found in her phone. Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t take his head out of the display. He was trying to figure out how this weird part worked, and besides, Steve was Captain America.

“You should put some ice on that,” said Steve.

Tony walked out of the image. “What?”

“I mean Bruce,” said Steve. “You should put some ice on your face. It will keep the swelling down.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce mumbled.

“Can I look at it?” said Steve. “Whenever I get a black eye, I use a piece of meat, if I can get one.”

Tony snorted. “Like you get black eyes.”

There was a pause. Bruce couldn’t tell what Steve was doing, because Bruce still wasn’t looking at them.

“I get black eyes all the time,” Steve said finally.

Another pause.

“From who?”

“Have you seen me?” Steve asked. “Or maybe you thought you were the only one who could pick on my size.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Tony said. “I was just—I’m sorry. I said I was sorry.”

“It’s okay. You know, if I were bigger, I’d probably pick on my size too.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Steve just laughed.

If there was any time to apologize, it would be right now. Bruce could just apologize to both of them, tell them he was sorry—for hurting Tony’s arm, pushing Steve down, and just in general being a bastard. He could tell them he’d just been lashing out out of—he didn’t know; he could make something up—fear—

God. So fucking lame. Lame. That was really fucking lame. Bruce kept his head in the display.

“Who picks on you?” Tony was demanding.

“Just kids,” Steve said. “It isn’t a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Tell me who picks on you, and—and . . . .”

“You’ll beat up their great-grandkids?” Steve’s voice didn’t actually sound mean.

There was a little pause. “I can show you some moves,” Tony said finally. “You know, self-defense.”

Steve began, “I don’t really—”

“You showed me.”

“What?”

“You showed me,” Tony said. “When you were all . . . big and old and captainy. We did some sparring stuff, and you showed me all these moves. Kung fu stuff. Except, you know, not kung fu. There’s a gym here and everything—mats and shit so you won’t get hurt. I can totally go easy on you, you know; we’ll take it slow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be awesome. You might swim out of your clothes, though.” Another pause, Tony must have been interpreting the expression on Steve’s face. “No, it’s decent. We’ll make what’s-her-name get you something to wear.”

“If what you’re saying is true,” Steve said, “I don’t need to learn moves; I already know them.”

“Yeah, but Steve. It’s fun. Don’t you know how to have fun? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

“Well.” Steve sounded a little reluctant, and Tony’s tone turned wheedling.

“I bet you’re better than you think,” said Tony.

This was really great, Bruce thought, surrounded by the light of the display. Tony and Steve were making friends, just great. He wondered why they couldn’t do it, maybe, somewhere else. They seemed to have forgotten he was there, and he wasn’t about to remind them. He just wished they would go away.

Tony was saying, “That serum I was talking about just augments your muscles and stuff. Not your brain. Dad always said you were the most brilliant tactician alive.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, he was your biggest fan; Steve come oooon; don’t be lame.”

“Um,” said Steve. “Alright.”

“Yes! I knew you were cool.”

“I . . . did you want to go now?”

Bruce hoped Tony did want to go now. Then he would finally be alone and not have to listen to this—this bullshit. This people-making-friends type bullshit.

“No,” Tony said immediately. “Bruce and I’re working on this. But we totally can later.”

“Oh,” said Steve. “What are you working on?”

“Hul—Bruce?” said Tony.

Bruce bit his tongue and stayed inside the display. He wondered if there was any way of darkening it so that it wasn’t so transparent.

“What Bruce is trying to say—hey Pepper. Finished crushing on your senator?”

“No, he’s so dreamy,” Pepper said, her tone sarcastic. “You should really put something on that eye,” she went on, and Bruce guessed she was talking to him. “I’m sorry I hit you. For real. I’ve never given someone a shiner before.”

“Whoopsy daisy,” said Steve.

“You said whoopsy daisy,” Tony accused.

“I was gonna go get Bruce some ice,” said Steve. “Sorry, Bruce. I got side-tracked. Um, Tony, do you know where the—”

“Golly gee willikers, Batman,” Tony said. “Where are my manners? I should have given you fine friendly folks a tour.”

“Batman?” said Steve.

“By George gee Moses,” Tony said.

“Tony?” said Pepper. “Shut up.”

“He said whoopsy daisy, Pep.”

“I know what he said,” Pepper said. “Come on, Steve. We can find ice on our own.”

“That’s okay,” said Steve. “Tony, I’d really like a tour.”

“You’re a champ,” Tony told him. “Coming, Bruce?”

“I’m kind of busy,” Bruce mumbled.

“No you’re not.” Tony nudged Bruce’s foot with his own. “Come on. Lemme show you the old homestead. I’ve got wicked awesome toys. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m just getting the hang of this,” Bruce said, head still in the display of the Flux Accelerator.

“Come oooooooon,” Tony whined. “I have robots!”

“Don’t be such a pain,” said Pepper. “Leave him alone, if he wants to be left alone.”

“He doesn’t want to be left alone,” said Tony. “He’s just saying that.”

“You have to respect people’s wishes, Tony,” Steve said.

“Jesus H. Christ,” said Tony. “Do you two rag on me like this when we’re grown up? Because if you do, I kind of hate you now. This is why Hulk is totally my homeboy. What? Didn’t I tell you?” He grinned at Bruce. “We’re homeboys when we grow up. Total science homeboys. Are you sure you’re not coming?”

“I’m sure,” said Bruce.

“Fine,” said Tony. “Go ahead and brood.”

“I don’t even know if I want to go with you,” Pepper told Tony.

“It’ll be fun,” said Steve. “He said there are robots. We’ll be right back, Bruce.”

“Catch you on the flip-side,” said Tony.

“Whatever,” said Bruce.

He took his head out of the display in time to see them all troop out the door, Tony talking a mile a minute. Then they were gone, and Bruce was alone.

Bruce didn’t even know why he couldn’t even just go with them. It would have been like swallowing his pride or something, like saying he was sorry, and he didn’t even know why he couldn’t, because he was sorry. Steve acted like nothing even happened, like he’d never even pushed him, and Pepper had said she was sorry, and Tony—Tony was—but oh no, Bruce couldn’t say sorry. Because he was a fucking retard.

Whatever. They could all be friends, have their little club or whatever; he didn’t care. Bruce pushed the Flux Accelerator back into two dimensions, which actually felt kind of good. If this was his program, he’d’ve made it so it exploded when you pushed it like that, but it was nice getting to shove it around without making a mess or hurting himself, which he tended to do. He guessed the Hulk didn’t hurt itself.

He did that a couple times, tickling the display out, thinking of Tony, then shoving it back in. Eventually he got bored, heaved a sigh, and left it out. As long as they were out having fun or whatever, he could do something useful and productive. It was really stupid, but maybe if he had the Flux Accelerator figured out by the time they got back, he could face them and they’d forgive him; they’d have to thank him and stuff, too. Whatever, it really was stupid, but . . . not unappealing.

*

When the door to the lab opened, Bruce didn’t have it figured out, but he’d learned some neat things. For instance, he’d recognized a reactor in the Flux Accelerator that was a lot like the schematics for reactor he’d seen when he’d first looked at Tony’s computer. It turned out the older Tony had invented it, and it was really cool.

Finding things out made Bruce feel a lot better. Calmer. He felt like he could show these things to Tony, and Tony would be really interested and think he was really smart, and Bruce knew that was totally cheap, but he could do it and it would be nice. The people at the lab door weren’t Tony, though, and Bruce instantly felt less calm.

It was a lady and a man. A big man with big muscles and arms, carrying a big bag. He looked old, with crags in his face, and he didn’t look nice—though it wasn’t like he was ugly. The lady was really pretty, in fact. In fact, they sort of did look like celebrities, even though they weren’t really dressed like celebrities. They just wore jeans and shirts and jackets, and they were both wearing boots. The lady had really red hair—like it was dyed, it was so red.

“Hey,” the lady said, putting a hand on the man’s chest. She didn’t look over at the man, her eyes locked on Bruce. “Bruce?”

Who wants to know? Bruce almost said, before he realized it was stupid. He’d also backed up against the wall, he realized. He must look like a complete ignoramus. He ripped off his glasses and put them in his pocket, then stepped forward. “You must be Romanoff,” he said, and was impressed with how cool he sounded.

She smiled a bit, and the man raised his brows. “Natasha,” she said. “This is Clint. Where are the others?”

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know. Tony said he was going to show off his robots or something.” Yeah, he was totally cool.

Natasha looked up at Clint, and Clint nodded. Putting down his bag, he turned around and left the lab.

“Clint’s just going to go find them,” Natasha said, stepping closer. “How are we doing?”

Bruce shrugged again. “Can’t complain.”

“Uh-huh,” said Natasha. “Who did that to your eye?”

Dammit. He was going to be in trouble, now; he’d forgotten that he looked like a total juvenile delinquent. “Pepper,” he said, wincing, because getting hit by a girl was basically the epitome of uncool.

Natasha’s brows went straight up to her hairline. “Potts?”

“Yeah,” said Bruce. “I have no idea why.”

“Uh-huh,” she said again, non-committedly.

“Listen.” Bruce’s voice broke a little, and he coughed to clear his throat. “Is what Tony’s saying true?”

“I dunno,” she said. “What’s Tony saying?”

“That we’re all adults and we got turned into kids using alien technology.”

“I admit that’s pretty goddamn weird,” Natasha said, “but you seem to be living proof.”

Bruce pressed his lips together. “So, you know me as an adult?”

Natasha smiled. “I’ve run into you a couple times.”

“So what year do you think it is?”

“I think it’s 2013. Of course, we could all be suffering a mass delusion, but . . . Occam’s Razor.”

Bruce pretended to sigh, so she would see he knew what Occam’s Razor was. “Yeah. Do you have any idea how to get us back to normal?”

“I’m working on it. Meanwhile, you wanna start at the beginning?” Natasha sat down, then hooked another stool with her ankle, dragging it closer. “Potts gave me the short version.”

Bruce sat down. She made him want to have really good posture, which he typically didn’t. Dad was always griping at him about it.

He told her about how it had felt like waking up, looking around the lab and trying to figure out where he was and what he remembered. Explaining what happened after that, he conveniently left out all the parts where he was a dick and jerked people around—especially the part where he’d pushed Steve. Then he explained how he’d been looking at the Flux Accelerator, and he didn’t leave out anything about that, because he was proud he’d figured it out, and—well—it was awesome.

Starting to explain how he thought the Flux Accelerator worked, he called up the volumetric display on the holodesk. Then he put on his big glasses.

“Bruce,” she said.

When he looked up, he saw that she was smiling. “And this part is the arc reactor. It—”

“Bruce,” she said again.

“What?” he said, a little irritated, because this was the coolest part, and the older Tony must be awesome, and they were probably best friends, and the hydrogen fusion occurring in the plasma was really—

“You’re way over my head,” said Natasha.

“Oh,” said Bruce, and pulled off his glasses. “I . . . didn’t mean to.”

“That’s okay. We’re gonna get some scientists on this. I bet you can help them.”

“Really?” Bruce could feel his skin heating up.

Her smiled deepened. “Yeah. You’re as smart as any of them; I’m sure they’ll welcome the help.”

Just then, the door opened, Clint coming back with Pepper, Steve, and Tony. “Looky what I found,” Clint said. “We’d love to welcome you to Munchkinland.”

“He doesn’t get to call me munch— . . .” Tony trailed off, staring at Natasha. Then, shock appearing to have worn off, he marched straight up to her. “You must be Miss Romanoff. I’m sorry, but you seem real familiar. You look like you must be in my future.” He thrust out his hand.

“Seriously?” said Clint. “He’s twelve.”

“Thanks, kid,” said Natasha, shaking Tony’s hand. “You just won me a bet. Cough it up, Barton.”

Walking around them, Steve approached Bruce, and held out a bag full of ice. “We got you this,” he said. “Sorry it got a little melted.”

“Thanks,” said Bruce, putting the bag up to his face.

Muttering, Clint was reaching into his wallet while Natasha smirked at him.

“Wanna go up to my shop and take a look at my—”

Pepper moaned. “You are not going to make that robotic arm joke again.”

Tony looked miffed. “Why? It really is huge.”

Rolling her eyes, Pepper walked up to Natasha. “Hi, Miss Romanoff,” she said, also sticking out her hand. “We spoke on the phone. Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Potts,” was all Natasha said, shaking Pepper’s hand.

Bruce realized he should’ve shaken her hand too. That would have been really mature or whatever, but instead he’d just stood there looking at her like some kind of dork.

As Steve introduced himself too, Clint stepped over toward Bruce. Probably going to tell him how rude he’d been, and Bruce started trying to think of an excuse. He looked around for the doors again. Maybe he could just—

“What is this, anyway?” Clint said out of the side of his mouth. “The Von Trapp Family Avengers?” He smiled down at Bruce. “You alright there, buddy?”

Bruce took the bag of melted ice off his face as quickly as he could and put it behind his back. “Yes, sir. I didn’t get in a fight.”

“That’s okay,” said Clint, smiling more. “You wanna let me take a—”

He reached down, his hand coming straight for Bruce's face, and Bruce jerked away, hard.

Clint let his arm fall, just looking at him.

Bruce had fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up.

“Right then,” Clint said softly. He turned around and walked back over to the other kids.

Bruce couldn’t believe what an idiot he’d been. God. No wonder Clint wanted to go talk to the other kids. Not that Bruce wanted to talk to him anyway; it was just—he hadn’t meant to act like a—like a jerk. Bruce was just—embarrassed. That was all.

“I’m gonna go buy clothes,” Natasha was saying. “Clint’s going to stay here with you.”

“Can I go?” said Pepper.

“Nope,” said Natasha.

“Why not?” Pepper tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m good at shopping.”

“She is, you know,” said Tony. “Besides. You’ll need our sizes.”

“No, I won’t,” said Natasha. “JARVIS?”

“Forwarding measurements to your account,” said the British voice. “Will you be needing shoe sizes?”

“Oh my God, it is Big Brother,” said Tony.

“Sure,” said Natasha. “Why not.”

“We really have to stay in here?” Pepper said, frowning her big frown.

“She has a point,” said Tony. “Wouldn’t want anyone going stir crazy, would you? And you know, before he got tinyfied, Captain Adult totally let me take a spin in the limo, didn’t you, Cap?”

“I’m not sure what a limo is,” said Steve, folding his arms, “but my guess is no.”

“Chill out.” Tony turned back to Natasha. “He doesn’t remember. Did I mention he doesn’t remember? He took me out. He wasn’t afraid of some measly super-villains, were you, Steve? Oh yeah, don’t answer that. Do you want to be a square like Steve, Natasha? We got Thai. There was curry!”

Pepper was clutching her skirt around her waist, trying not to look desperate. “We won’t be any trouble. We just really want to see what the future looks like.”

“Nat,” said Clint, nodding his head toward the other side of the lab.

They moved away, and Clint started talking in an undertone to Natasha. Tony started to go over there to hear what they were saying, but Steve grabbed his arm. “They’re talking,” Steve said.

“They’re talking about us,” Tony whined.

“Sure, they are,” said Steve. “And you can feel free to talk about them.”

“Why don’t you talk about them?” said Tony. “Bet you never seen a girl dressed like that, eh Steve?”

Steve blushed, and Natasha turned around. “Bruce,” she said.

Bruce looked up.

“You can come with me. The rest of you, you’re staying here.” Natasha got out her phone, touching the screen.

“Now who’s up for a nice game of Parcheesi?” said Clint, with a big wide grin.

“Seriously?” said Tony. “Seriously, Bruce gets to go?”

Bruce could feel his face heating up, his thumb running over the rest of his fingers. Clint had said something about him. He just knew Clint had said something about him—maybe he’d told Natasha about how he’d gotten into a fight, or something about how rude he’d been—

Pepper’s face was heating up too, if the color of it was any indication. “I asked first!”

“I’m sure they have a reason,” Steve began.

“Whatever,” Bruce said, trying to shrug, like it was nothing. Natasha was on the phone. For just one second, Bruce thought she might be calling Dad, until he realized that was utterly preposterous. “I can stay,” he said.

“Nope,” said Clint. “Natasha says she really wants to take you. She’s calling for a car, so you don’t have to walk far in your shoes. I reckon they’re too big, but you’ll probably want to put them on.”

“Yes sir,” Bruce said, going to get his shoes. He didn’t look at any of them.

“Look at him,” said Tony. “He doesn’t even want to go. It’s okay, Bruce.” Putting his hand over his heart, Tony stepped forward. “I’ll make the sacrifice. I, alone, though it gives me no pleasure, shall escort the beautiful Miss Romanoff through the wilds of the future—”

“Oh my God, shut up,” said Pepper. Frowning, she was looking between Clint, Natasha, and Bruce a little suspiciously. They probably have a reason, Steve had said. Pepper was really smart. She was probably figuring it out.

“I would have thought that you would have learned by now that I am physically incapable of shutting up,” Tony was saying, while Natasha put away her phone and walked over to Bruce. “It’s a rare condition,” Tony went on. “Few people learn to live with it. Jesus fucking Christ, Bruce, just go already. What is with you? She doesn’t have cooties. Only Pepper has cooties—right, Pep? Because when we make out in the future—”

“Alright, Bruce?” Natasha said, smiling down at him. “Come on. Let’s go. Bring your ice.”

Reluctantly, Bruce followed her to the door, carrying his ice.

“Do you know what we’re going to do?” Clint said as they left. “Circus stunts. Yes, circus stunts. I know this one stunt where you have to shut up for a whole five minutes straight. It’s awesome.”

Then Bruce was going out the door with Natasha. They got on the elevator and started the ride down in silence. With one hand, Bruce held the ice to his face. On his other hand his thumb kept running over his fingers; he couldn’t stop it.

“What’s the matter?” Natasha said, when they were near the bottom. “Don’t like shopping?”

“Not particularly,” said Bruce, taking the ice away from his face.

She smiled. “And here I invited you because I thought shopping with an unlimited credit card was the childhood dream of every young man.”

“I’m not a child,” said Bruce, hating how childish he sounded, “and you didn’t invite me.”

“Sure I did,” said Natasha.

“No, you didn’t,” said Bruce. “Clint told you to bring me.”

Natasha looked down at him. Unlike his mother and plenty of his teachers, he couldn’t read what she was thinking. “There’s one thing you should know about Clint,” she said as the elevator door opened. “He doesn’t tell me to do anything. Sometimes he suggests; then he stands back and hopes I listen.”

They stepped out. Bruce couldn’t help being curious, even if he was still embarrassed and humiliated by getting sent away. The lobby looked like plenty of lobbies on television, but Bruce hadn’t had much cause to be in big New York office buildings before, and there were computers at the front desk.

Leading him to the doors, Natasha looked down at him. “Why do you think Clint told me to bring you?”

Bruce glanced up, and then away. “I don’t think he likes me,” he said.

“I see.” The words were clipped and lacked inflection; Bruce couldn’t tell what she saw.

Then they were going outside, and for a minute or two, Bruce was absorbed in looking around him. The cars were different—sleeker, rounder. The clothing was a little different too—more like Natasha’s, a little more understated and less colorful. There weren’t any hover cars, though. Bruce wanted to ask Natasha about it, but he didn’t want her to laugh, or say something like, ha ha, of course there aren’t any hover cars, so he didn’t.

“This is us,” she said, when a black sedan rolled up. She opened the back door and poked her head inside, then got in. “Come on,” she said, scooting over. “Get in.” As Bruce got in, she added, “Just don’t tell Stark you rode around Manhattan like a diva. He’ll get jealous.”

It wasn’t a limo or anything, but it was certainly the nicest car that Bruce had ever been in. There was a plastic wall to separate them from the driver, like he’d seen in taxis in the movies. The car started moving.

“Are you friends?” Bruce blurted, before he could stop himself. “I mean, with Tony. When he’s grown up.”

“Friends is such a strong word.” She pursed her mouth; it twisted to one side. “How ‘bout I put it this way. I have a tremendous amount of respect for that man. Also, he’s hilarious. Not always intentionally.”

“Why?” said Bruce. “I mean, why do you respect him?”

“Good question.” For a moment, Bruce thought that meant she wasn’t going to answer, but then she looked straight at him. “I think it’s because every decision he’s ever made is his own. He decided who he was going to be and that’s who he was. Not many people can say that. Here, gimme that.”

As she reached out her hand, Bruce gave her his ice. She rolled down her window, opened the bag, then poured out the excess water as the street rolled on by. Then she twisted the bag around the remaining ice, and rolled up the window. “There you go.”

Embarrassed about the whole thing, Bruce took the ice, and looked out his own window.

Natasha didn’t say anything for a while. Then, “I didn’t bring you because Clint suggested it. I brought you because I wanted you with me.”

“Yeah?” Bruce’s voice was sarcastic. He didn’t look back at her.

“Yeah,” said Natasha. “I like the moody ones. Ask Clint.”

“I’m not moody,” said Bruce.

“Sure.”

There was another pause. Bruce tried to see Natasha’s reflection in the window, but he couldn’t. It was a bummer, because he couldn’t really see the street that well either. The windows were tinted.

“You’re not going to ask me whether we’re friends when we’re grown up?” Natasha asked.

“I already know the answer,” said Bruce, pressing in his ice.

“Oh?” said Natasha. “Can you tell me? Because I would really like to know.”

Bruce was going to say, I don’t have friends, but then it occurred to him that she might—she just might—say something horrifically saccharine, such as of course you do. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it, especially if she didn’t say it after all, so he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t even really care. He was old. He was living on his own. He didn’t have to worry any more, and idly, he wondered whether he would even visit Mom, whether he would have developed some warped sense of obligation. He didn’t think he would. He wondered whether he missed her, though, whether he ever got a craving for the taste of her spaghetti. She made the sauce with sour cream. Took the edge off, she said.

The thing was, he didn’t have to be this person any more. He wasn’t this person anymore; he was grown up already. If only he could be grown up right now; he wouldn’t even have to think about this. He wouldn’t have to think about Clint or any of it. It would all be over, and he’d never feel like this again.

This was the simplest answer possible, to everything. This was Occam’s Razor.

“Can you tell me everything that’s happened?” Bruce asked at last. “In the world I mean. Since 1979.”

“Sure,” said Natasha. “I can tell you. You know what the Berlin Wall is, right?”

*

Natasha was an efficient shopper. When they got out of the car, she told the driver to drive around; then they went into the store and straight up to the young adult section. It was Macy’s. The only real difference between now and 1979, besides the clothes, was that everyone seemed to have phones or tiny computers or whatever. Otherwise it was boring. Tony and Pepper probably would have enjoyed it.

Once they were among the racks, Natasha had her phone in one hand—probably looking at the sizes—and just started pulling things off shelves with the other. “You’re not even going to look at the prices?” Bruce asked.

“Why should I?” said Natasha. “I’m going to use Tony’s card.”

“His credit card?” Bruce said. “How did you—”

“I have my ways,” was all Natasha would say.

Later, she made him look at glasses. Bruce didn’t want to, because the other ones fit and it seemed pointless to get new glasses since this was supposed to be only a temporary thing. She didn’t seem interested in his protests, though, and made him try on several.

“Gimme your old ones,” she said. Reluctantly, Bruce took them out, and she slipped them in the pocket of her jacket. “These new ones won’t be prescription, but at least they’ll fit your face.”

“I don’t care.”

“Here. Try these." She handed him a new pair. "These are cute.”

“I don’t want to be cute.”

She’d sort of smiled then. “Then you have a serious problem I can't help you solve.”

By the time they left, Bruce had new glasses, and they had four big bags of clothes. Bruce’s own bag had two pairs of pants, four shirts, two belts, a bag of underwear, a bag of socks, pajamas, a bathing suit, flip-flops, his old clothes, and his old shoes. Their car drove up, but Natasha just tossed the bags in, took Bruce’s bag, and tossed that in too. After she said something to the driver, the car drove away.

“Aren’t we going back?” asked Bruce.

Natasha was doing something on her phone. “Do you like ice cream, Bruce?”

“What?”

“How about frozen yogurt?”

“I’ve never had frozen yogurt,” said Bruce, “but it sounds disgusting.”

She smiled, just on the side of her mouth. “Come on.”

The frozen yogurt place was about a block away, and it was called Pinkberry. Inside there were a lot of recessed boxes in the walls with silver levers.

“You can try them out if you want,” Natasha explained. She picked up a tiny paper cup, like for ketchup, and pushed down on one of the handles on the one of the machines. It was like soft serve, Bruce guessed, and a dollop of ice cream or whatever landed in the cup. Natasha pulled it out with her tongue, and Bruce looked away.

He didn’t really like pretty girls. In fact, he didn’t like girls at all. He thought they were dumb. They just made him feel . . . awkward and sort of sweaty. Guys like Tony wanted to do things to them, but they just made Bruce wish they would go away. Just another way to be a freak, he guessed.

“It’s good,” said Natasha. “Come on and try it.”

Bruce tried it.

It was alright, he guessed.

Natasha got a bowl for him and he put some chocolate yogurt in his cup while she got her own; then she pointed him over to the toppings. There were a lot of cookies and brownies and . . . weird stuff like cereal and round, smushy things—all kinds of stuff Mom never would have let him have, and Natasha said he could have as much as he wanted, so he got a lot. “Don’t forget to get sauce,” said Natasha, passing him by with this utterly tiny cup of vanilla with some strawberries on top. “They have marshmallow cream.”

That was the point at which Bruce looked up, and took his hand off the bowl.

“You done?” said Natasha. “’Cause they gotta weigh it.”

“I don’t want it,” said Bruce.

“Why not?”

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest.

Natasha just shrugged. “Okay.” She picked up his bowl and took it over to the cashier, paid for both of them, then picked them up and started walking to a table. “You gonna sit with me, at least?” she said, looking over her shoulder.

Scowling, Bruce went to go sit with her at one of the little white tables.

“What’s up?” she said, nudging his bowl toward him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Mm. That’s a loaded question.” She took a bite of her yogurt, turning her spoon in her mouth.

Bruce looked away. She’d bought the yogurt for a reason. She was probably doing that to her spoon for a reason, too. People like her—teachers and doctors and counselors and whatever—they always had plans, because they always thought they knew what was going on. Like being old made them experts on being a kid.

“Probably right now what I most want is for you to tell me why you don't want your yogurt,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “But I also really want to get these assassin ninja bastards who’ve been making my life a living hell lately off my back, so you know.” Natasha nibbled on the end of her spoon, then took it out again. “It’s a tossup.”

“You’re trying to get something out of me,” Bruce said, irritated.

“Ah,” Natasha said lightly. “I wouldn’t be nice to you otherwise, right?”

Bruce glared at the yogurt.

“You gonna laser beam that with your eyes, or what? ‘Cause lapushka, it’s already melting.”

Bruce didn’t know what lapushka meant; it was Russian or something. Bruce was pretty sure it was a way to make fun of him. She took another bite of yogurt, doing things with her spoon again—Bruce was pretty sure that was a way to make fun of him, too.

“At least put it to good use,” Natasha went on, when she’d finally extracted the spoon. “You could put it on your eye, or something. How’s that feel, by the way?” She took another bite of yogurt.

Bruce looked away. “Fine.”

“Okay. You ever had a black eye before?” She sucked on the spoon.

“Yeah,” he said, before he realized it was a trick.

“Mm-hm.” Focusing her gaze solely on her yogurt, she scooped up more of it and ate it. “How did those happen?”

Bruce glared at her. “I ran into something.”

“That sucks. What’d you run into?”

“A door.”

“I’m just asking.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything.”

She looked up then, putting down her yogurt. “I know you didn’t,” she said, her voice steady and quiet.

“Did Clint tell you I got in a fight?” Bruce asked, his fist clenching under the table. “Because I didn’t. Pepper hit me.”

She shook her head. “Clint didn’t tell me anything. Are you sure you’re not going to eat your yogurt? Because if you’re not, I’m going to.”

“Have it,” said Bruce.

“Goody.” Natasha pulled the bowl closer with her spoon, then took a great big bite. “So, tell me all about you. You’re in school, huh?”

“I’m not in school,” said Bruce, still irritated. “I’m forty-five. Apparently.”

“Sure,” said Natasha, “but I wanna know about you the age you are now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”

“Okay.” She took another bite of his yogurt. “So you’re in what, eighth grade?”

“I’m a sophomore. In highschool.”

“Huh. I thought American middle school was—”

“I skipped grades.”

Natasha nodded, twisting the spoon in her mouth again, then taking it out. “Is it hard?”

“It’s too easy.”

“Want some yogurt?” Natasha said, and pushed it back to him.

Bruce picked up his spoon, and poked at the yogurt like he wasn’t going to eat it. Then Natasha went back to eating her own, so he started eating his.

“What about your parents?” she said, after a little while.

“What about them?” Regretting eating any of the yogurt, he started poking at it again. She was definitely trying to get something out of him.

“They cool?”

Bruce shrugged. “My dad’s a physicist.”

“Uh-huh.”

“A nuclear physicist.” When Natasha seemed unimpressed, Bruce went on, “Better than Alvarez. Better than Richter and that lot. You only don’t know about him because—because he’s not—he’s not flashy like those other guys. He’s actually a genius.”

“Oh?” Natasha said. “How do you know?”

Bruce tilted his head. “I guess you just wouldn’t understand.”

“Uh-huh,” said Natasha. “I know who Brian Banner was.”

“Really?” Bruce guessed he should have been happy or proud or whatever, because that was always how he thought he’d feel when Dad finally made a breakthrough, and his colleagues started appreciating him and he got past his mistakes or whatever. Instead, Bruce could feel a pit opening inside of him. “He’s famous?”

“He’s dead,” said Natasha.

The pit clotted up. Bruce couldn’t feel anything inside of it.

Dad is dead.

He guessed he visited Mom all the time, then.

“My father was a bright man too,” Natasha said. “He taught me almost everything I know.”

“Oh,” said Bruce.

“My guess is he had some things in common with your dad. Not everything. Just essentials.”

Somehow Bruce doubted that. He poked at his yogurt. “So is my mom . . . close by?”

Natasha shook her head. “She’s dead too.”

“What?” Bruce dropped his spoon. “Why? I mean—how? I thought if Dad—” He made himself stop that thought, and instead tried to search in that pit still inside his chest for something. Anything.

Dad was dead; Mom was dead, and sure, Dad did some bad things, but it was Dad, and Mom was Mom with her big brown eyes and faded dumpy dresses, and the way she listened to the radio and sang these stupid, stupid songs, and the way she was disappointed he didn’t have green eyes like Dad’s, and the way she was so happy he had inherited her skin, and the way she said all the time, You are so bright. Just like your father. Your father’s bright, bright boy—stupid things like that.

He should feel something, like sad or upset or maybe relieved or helpless or stunned—was this stunned?—but instead he just felt nothing. There was nothing there. It was like a great big sinkhole in the cavity of his chest; where his heart should be, there was nothing.

There was something wrong with him, Bruce guessed, dragging his spoon through the melting yogurt.

“I’m sorry,” said Natasha.

He looked up at her. She appeared to be investigating her yogurt. “How did she die?” he asked.

“Car accident. Instantaneous.”

“Oh,” said Bruce, and then he did feel relieved. “Good.” Then he realized what he’d said. “I mean—”

“No, very good. Death is a certainty; the way we go isn’t.”

“I read about the Hulk on the internet,” Bruce said finally, after a long time. “I read I killed people.”

“Hm.” When he looked at her at last, she added, “I guess we’re even.”

“What?”

“I’ve killed people too.”

Bruce swallowed, but refused to feel afraid. “Why?” was all he said.

Natasha just shrugged. “There were reasons at the time.”

Bruce looked at his yogurt. “I pushed Steve.”

“Yeah,” said Natasha, sounding unsurprised. He knew Clint must have told her, though when he thought about it, he didn’t really know how Clint knew. “Why did you do that?”

Bruce just shrugged. “He got in the way.”

“Uh-huh.”

He lifted his eyes. “You’re not angry?”

Natasha finished up her yogurt, then looked over at Bruce’s. “Here, you wanna eat this together?” She dipped her spoon in his cup again.

“Okay,” he said, and took another bite.

“Plenty of things are all my fault,” she said, after they’d eaten a couple bites. “But there are plenty of things that aren’t. Violence isn’t a thing that springs fully formed into your heart when you’re twenty-one, Bruce, or when you have an accident. Lots of times, it begins when you’re young. Lots of times, you’re not the one who put it there. You wanna know who told me that?”

Bruce ate the frozen yogurt.

She twisted the spoon in her mouth, took it out. “It was Clint.”

Go to: part 3